The general parent category for most of the things I write about on here.
One of the more interesting Louisa-centric sub-categories is biodata (where I explore my personal history with graphs, maps and whatnot), and if you’re that way inclined, you can read about the wonderful felines and canines with whom I’ve shared my life too.
1. We pick the wrong path around the Chevin and end up on a path just a bit too muddy, bumpy and hilly for the pushchair. We battle through though and are rewarded with a fantastic view of the hills to the north of Otley and the pools of Pool. We stop to catch our breath and take it all in.
2. The steeping rosemary fills the kitchen with its perfume.
3. The frequent silly text messages stop me missing him quite so much. One sleep down, two sleeps to go.
I had my first wild garlic of the season today! The woods behind our house are *full* of it – the banks of the stream on both sides are five foot deep with it, mostly just small baby leaves at the moment but some bigger leaves too.
I picked some – a large handful – while on my lunchtime walk with Lily. Because they’re *everywhere*, it was easy to pick up some from slightly off the beaten track and I nibbled a leaf as I walked back to the house.
In the kitchen, I squished the roughly chopped wild garlic leaves into some leftover mashed potato and added a beaten egg as a binder, then shallow fried them until golden brown-ish. In the other side of the pan, I fried up some smoked bacon and ate them together with a giant grin on my face.
In the past, we’ve done slightly more elaborate things with wild garlic – eg, the ubiquitous pesto – but this was very simple and delicious!
I read A LOT of green/simple living blogs – some religiously, others only when the subject particularly appeals. There is such a wealth of knowledge out there and inspirational actions, not from proclaimed experts or media stars but from a range of people living (or trying to live) “simpler” lives. (I share my favourite posts here – http://www.google.com/reader/shared/louisa.parry)
However, the vast majority of the bloggers are from the US and while a lot of the information transfers over here, it’s nice to read stories from British bloggers too – their photos show familiar hilly landscapes not alien prairies or mountains, they talk about tea & Jaffa cakes, and they have small, climate-challenged gardens & no chance of an allotment this side of the year 3000.
So anyway, on with the links:
(From my lunchtime walk with Lily in the woods at the back of our house. We took a slightly extended version of our usual route, which goes along the main path and back alongside the beck. I walked about a mile; Lily ran considerably further.)
1. In the forest of birch, oak and rocks, the trees are evenly spaced without crowding or saplings in between. The weighty trunks grow tall and true but their still-naked limbs twist and gnarl. Underfoot is still golden from last year’s leaf fall. In just a few weeks, this scene will be transformed.
2. There is a glade in the woods just off the path above the other path, which looks like it’s from Fable. Two rings of stone, probably a century old, adorned by just one young tree each in the centre – like unactivated cullis gates to other worlds. Nearby, a stream has cut its way under a stone ledge and a set of steps leads excitingly off into the distance.
3. The sides of the beck, from here to the canal and river at Apperley Bridge, are covered with glorious green wild garlic (Ramsoms). The smell is divine. I collect a handful of leaves for my lunch.
1. We hug and feel paws stretching out against our waists, the hound trying to join in.
2. We go into the hills to the south, following the tributaries leading from our beck. One stream opens out into a quagmire and John stomps up it, the proud owner of wellies for the first time in nearly two decades. Lily – who is now allowed off lead in the woods and runs at top speed EVERYWHERE – creates muddy waves as she bounds back towards from her distant travels and we take that as cue to return to dry land.
3. Bums touch as they curl up next to me on the sofa.
4. The dog likes on her back, feet twitching in dreams, as the intruder (John) enters the house. She wakes – finally – when he calls her (“Crap guard dog! Crap guard dog, where are you?”) and runs at him, ball in mouth, ready to play.
© 2025 Louisa Parry